You Don't Know Me
by Hayseed Socrates
Summary: A multichapter that starts a week or two after Silver Wings of Time (6.17). A person from Jane's past unexpectedly surfaces during a case, providing Lisbon with some much needed insight. (Departs from canon, but eventual Jane/Lisbon.) Hope you enjoy it. Chapter 5 is up.
1. Chapter 1

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_Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I wish I did. I'm only playing with them in a nonprofit manner. They are, however, killing me. Damn you, show! _

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This is not a tag, but a multichapter which starts a week or two after _Silver Wings of Time_. Though I know what happens, I'm not sure how long it will take to get me there, so please bear with me. The title is taken from the wonderful Ray Charles song, _You Don't Know Me. _Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy it.

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**7 am Austin FBI Headquarters**

The briefing was mercifully…well…brief. Given the early hour, Lisbon shuffled to her desk, falling into her chair to drink a badly needed second cup of coffee. Something had to sustain her on the way to the airport, and breakfast wasn't looking likely. In addition, she had a difficult phone call to make before she left. She scrunched her eyes shut and took another long draw on her coffee. Behind her, Jane sat on his couch, silently sipping his tea. She wondered briefly if he'd slept there last night.

Not her problem, she reminded herself, and shifted her thoughts to the new case. Last night a murder and an electronic robbery - an illegal transfer of funds – had occurred in an assisted living facility in Fort Worth. Why was this the FBI's problem?

Because Representative McCleary's mother lived there, and a California colleague had wasted no time in letting him know that similar crimes had been committed in California nursing homes by national rings of the Armenian mafia. Though there was no immediate evidence linking this crime to those in California, nothing was too good for Representative McCleary's mother. Therefore, it was their next case, and she had to get to the airport soon. But first she had a call to make.

Sighing, she pulled out her phone and called Marcus.

"Hey," he answered. She hadn't awakened him – she knew his sleepy voice. "What's up?"

"We've got a case. Up in Fort Worth. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to cancel for tomorrow night."

"Oh, wow. Sorry to hear that. Any idea how long it will take?"

"There's politics involved, so I'm not optimistic. I'm really sorry to do this to you. I'm sure it will be fantastic." The truth was, she wasn't much for those dress-up things where she didn't know anybody, but it was clearly a big deal to Marcus, so she had agreed to accompany him.

"Yeah, you're going to miss me in a tux, too," he joked.

"Hopefully I'll get another chance on that count." The man would be easy on the eyes in a tux, no doubt about that.

"I can guarantee it, and I understand. I know it's part of the job. Say, if you happen to close the thing early, let me know. We might still make it."

"I'll do that."

"Safe travels."

"Thanks." That hadn't been so bad after all. Pike was so damn reasonable.

Jane stirred behind her on the couch as she closed out the call. "What are you missing, Lisbon?"

"A grateful art dealer gave Marcus a couple of tickets to a big art gala tomorrow night. Black tie thing."

"Ah, nothing like a good art gala. High heels and plunging necklines."

She twisted her chair to look at him squarely. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, really. Agent Pike is showing you a good time. Good for him." She could fairly hear the words he left unspoken after that. _Not good for me. _Really, he had to stop being so nice about it all. He was obviously restraining himself from making any negative comments. He was being gracious and deferring to her decisions, the bastard. Well, she was not going to allow herself to feel sorry for Jane. He did not know what was best for her, and maybe that little talking to she'd given him on the plane had actually sunk into his thick skull.

Jane sat his teacup on the table and rose. "So, Lisbon, why not ride up to Fort Worth with me? We can catch up."

"We're taking a commuter flight – weren't you paying attention? It leaves in an hour and fifteen minutes."

"Meh, I'm driving. I'll get there faster. Besides, I hate those little planes."

"The great Patrick Jane, afraid to fly?"

"Technically, I'm afraid for you to fly," he said, shrugging.

"And statistically speaking, it's safer than riding in that bucket of yours." Why he wanted that monstrosity was beyond her.

"Why do you continue to disparage the Silver Sovereign, when you haven't made any effort to experience its charm?" He seemed genuinely dismayed at her refusal to ride in that thing.

She snorted. "I'm flying, Jane. Fischer has already booked the seats. "

Honestly, she was half surprised he hadn't sat her down already and explained all the reasons he thought Pike was not a good match for her. She could hear it all now. Jane would contend that Pike's dependability and predictability would get boring eventually, and she would be trapped in the relationship – unable to hurt a man who had only treated her well and showed her kindness. Like Jane knew what she needed. Jane, who after all this time, couldn't even fix himself.

But so far the talk hadn't come, and all Jane had said to her about it was essentially, _I'm happy you're having a good time. _It was maddening, really.

Jane dropped his eyes, but protested no further as he headed for the elevators. "As you wish." She couldn't see the half smile of regret pass across his face.

**Much later that morning…**

It was after eleven when Fischer, Lisbon, Wylie, and Cho arrived at Arlington House of Fort Worth. The entry sign promised "Hassle Free Senior Living" and the landscaping was meticulously tropical. A signed van sat out front, waiting to take its residents on exciting new adventures. Except now, the parking lot was littered with cop cars.

Mechanical issues had delayed their flight from Austin by an hour and a half, and Fischer was not happy. Abbott had gone straight from the airport to visit the Representative to assure him they were on the case, and he would be joining the team later. Lisbon, Wylie, and Cho followed Fischer into the main office of the facility, where they met the administrator, Mrs. Stone.

Her face was puffy and her suit wrinkled, but she greeted them professionally. She had no doubt been called in at 3 am when the body was found. "Oh, you must be the rest of the team that Mr. Jane mentioned."

The team exchanged glances. "Yes?" Fischer hesitated. "And where is Mr. Jane now?"

"He's addressing all of the Memory Care residents in the Main Dining Room. We brought them over to the main building at his request. Poor Frank was…killed over in the Memory Care main office." The woman dabbed her eyes and pointed to an adjacent building.

"Our facility is made up of two parts," she pulled herself together and continued. "Memory Care, where we keep our more challenged residents in a controlled environment, and here in the Commons, where our residents are mentally self sufficient, but need some sort of physical assistance. They're free to come and go as they please."

"Thank you, Mrs. Stone. Maybe you could show us where the crime occurred?" Fischer inquired.

"Mr. Jane said you would want to check out the crime scene when you got here. I'll walk you over."

"Please." Fischer turned to her team as the administrator walked out. "Cho, you and Wylie come with me." Then she added in a whisper, so Mrs. Stone couldn't hear, "Lisbon, go figure out what Jane's up to."

Lisbon did as she was instructed, and she soon found Jane addressing a room full of elderly residents in the Commons dining hall. Cop that she was, she immediately noted the staff positioned at all of the exits. Occasionally a resident would try to leave, only to be escorted back to his or her chair by the helpful staff member. For the most part, however, Jane held the room. She stood outside the double doors at the back with a group of older ladies, all of them craning to hear what he was saying.

Jane was going through one of his usual "examinations" of the crowd, asking them to raise their hands, trying to determine if anyone there was the killer, she supposed, and liberally laying on the charm to the geriatric group. If one of these folks had committed the murder, they might not even remember it, she thought with a chuckle.

"Excuse me, ma'am," Lisbon asked one of the nosy ladies. "Why are all of you," she motioned to the group listening in, "not in there?" She pointed into the dining hall where Jane was speaking.

The women looked horrified. "Oh, they're the 'Memory' ones, bless their hearts," one of them replied, making the word 'memory' sound like something to be pitied. There were nods all around. "The staff brought them all over here today for the police investigation. Usually they're not allowed out of…_over there_. Afraid they'd get lost, you know? The murder happened over in their building."

A second woman broke in. "Mildred, she knows that. She's a cop. Aren't you dear?"

"Yes," Lisbon replied with an amused smile. "FBI, actually." She flashed her badge.

Yet another woman added her two cents. "Must have been money involved, then. The FBI doesn't show up when a night clerk gets offed at a nursing home."

"Shhhh," scolded one of the ladies standing closer to the door. "I can't hear."

Most of the women turned their attention back to Jane's presentation, but one resident made her way toward Lisbon. She appeared frail, yet her voice was confident and precise when she spoke. "Excuse me, young lady?" she said quietly.

"Yes, ma'am?" They both took a couple of steps backward so they would not disturb the group that crowded near the door, riveted to Jane's machinations.

"I'm Eleanor Granberry." She offered Lisbon an arthritic but warm hand.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Agent Lisbon." Something made her add, "Teresa."

"That's a nice name," Eleanor noted. The woman exhibited a kind demeanor, and her twinkling eyes told Lisbon she was sharp as a tack. She continued, "I was wondering if you knew the man addressing our Memory group. Is he your colleague?"

"Yes," Lisbon smiled. Old ladies were attracted to Jane like flies to flypaper.

"What's his name, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Patrick Jane – he's a consultant for the FBI."

The woman's eyes widened in shock and disbelief, and Lisbon instinctively reached for her arm when she swayed a little.

"Is it possible?" Mrs. Granberry whispered, mostly to herself.

"Do you know him?" Lisbon asked, intrigued. A glance into the room revealed Jane still in showman mode. His audience was captivated.

"Do you know about his past?" the woman asked.

"Yes," Lisbon smiled. "Well, some of it." Jane probably reminded the older woman of some long, lost love from years ago. The next question, however, got her full attention.

"Was his father with a carnival?"

Now it was Lisbon's turn to be surprised. _ Could this actually be someone from Jane's past? _"Yes," she confirmed, "he was. Do you know him?"

"I believe I might. I think I was his teacher."

"Jane didn't go to high school."

"If this is the Patrick Jane I knew, he was in my seventh grade class. For part of the year, that is. It was in Council Bluffs, Iowa, November through midMarch, if I recall correctly. Winter of eighty-two. He wasn't a child you forget."

Lisbon was fascinated. _Could this be true? _

"I was wondering if you could introduce me later, if you have time. Of course you must do your jobs first and find the person who killed poor Frank. He was a lovely man. He worked over here sometimes, too, and we all knew him."

"Why yes, I'd be very happy to introduce you, Ms. Granberry," Lisbon replied with a smile. Her day had just become a thousand percent more interesting. If this was true, it was going to be good.


	2. When I'm Sixty Four - Chapter 2

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_I don't own these characters and I'm not making any money from writing these stories. D'oh. You knew that. _

_Sorry about the delay getting this chapter up. Life happens sometimes. I wrote this in snippets, so I hope it makes sense. My apologies, and thanks for reading._

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As soon as Jane finished his interrogation/presentation for the Memory Care residents, Lisbon called him.

"Hi Lisbon, still at the airport?" he answered his phone, unaware she was actually within his sights.

She could see his face across the room, but she would have heard the smile in his voice without visual confirmation. It was weird how that worked, she mused. "I'm right out those double doors in the back of the room you're in right now. See me?" She rose up on her tiptoes and held up her free hand. Sometimes being short was a distinct disadvantage. "You need to come back here. I have a surprise for you." She watched him as he peered in her direction, and she finally caught his eye.

"Yes, I see you. Ooh, a surprise! Glad you finally made it, by the way."

Lisbon ignored the verbal jab and turned to the elderly woman beside her. "He's on his way."

Jane threaded his way carefully through the mass of shuffling residents, as the staff assembled them to return to their home building next door.

"Hey Lisbon," he greeted her with a smile as he emerged through the double door. "Told you driving was faster. At least you got here…"

"Save it, Jane, there's someone here who wants to meet you. She thinks she might know you."

Lisbon stepped to the side, revealing Mrs. Granberry.

"Patrick," the elderly woman asked. "Is that you?"

Jane's mouth fell open in a look of shock and delight. He was completely taken aback, which was something Lisbon had seen very rarely. It took a lot to floor Patrick Jane.

"Do you remember me?" the woman asked, extending a twisted, frail hand. Jane's hands were actually trembling as he reached to envelop hers, and his eyes were liquid as he asked, "Mrs. Granberry?"

They reached for each other simultaneously, embracing so sweetly it brought a tear to even Lisbon's eye. They parted after a long hug, both sniffling a little, and Jane stepped back, including Lisbon in their circle of intimacy. "So you've met my good friend and partner Teresa Lisbon?" Jane asked.

Lisbon blushed in spite of herself, as the woman replied, "Yes, such a lovely young lady. She has been very kind."

"Mrs. Granberry was my teacher, Teresa. Did she tell you? The best teacher," he added reverently. "I came back about five years later to try and find you, you know," he told her. "They said you had moved to Texas."

"Yes, my husband took a job here in Ft. Worth. I always wondered what happened to you. I see you've done well! The FBI!"

"Well…" Jane started, tilting his head, but Lisbon's phone buzzed, interrupting their conversation and saving Jane an awkward explanation.

It was Fischer. "Yeah, boss," she answered.

"Did you find Jane?"

"Sure did."

"Meet us right now in the conference room in the front of the Memory Care building. We'll go over what we have so far."

"On our way," Lisbon replied. "Excuse us, ma'am, we have to meet our colleagues regarding this case right now."

"Certainly," she replied graciously. "I know you two have to attend to your job."

Jane was oblivious, still staring at the older woman with a look of childlike delight.

"Jane," Lisbon touched his arm. "We've got to meet with Fischer and the team."

He reluctantly addressed his teacher. "I have to finish this case, and then I would love to spend some time talking with you, if that's okay."

"Certainly, Patrick, I will expect you." She patted his hand like that of a child, and Lisbon nearly laughed out loud. She doubted there was another human being in the world who could have gotten away with that gesture. This lady must really be special. "I'm in room one twenty seven. Please come visit me any time. It's not like my schedule is full," Mrs. Granberry added wryly.

Lisbon turned to go, but Jane hesitated, not really wanting to leave. His teacher picked up on that right away. "Go. Do what you need to do. Find out who killed poor Frank. Then we'll catch up."

He nodded obediently and followed behind Lisbon like a duckling, unable to see her amused smile.

On their way between buildings, they walked through the group of Memory Care residents being herded back to their home building. Jane stopped briefly to hold a particularly tottery lady's arm as she stepped up onto the curb. Patrick Jane certainly had his faults, Lisbon observed, but she had never seen him be anything but kind to animals, kids, and old people. It was a wonderful quality and one thing she loved about him. She hadn't seen Marcus around children yet, she realized, and she wondered what he would be like.

After they had passed through the group and walked on ahead, Lisbon spoke. "That's pretty amazing, running into an old teacher."

"Not just any old teacher. The only _good_ teacher I ever had," he added, his eyes glowing. "I'm so happy to see her again."

"I could tell. I'm glad, Jane."

"By the way, Lisbon. I think I know who did this. We should have the killer nabbed by tomorrow morning, so you can call Agent Pike and tell him you can still make the art gala."

"What?"

"Yes, I'm 95% sure about this one," he stated confidently.

"I will wait until we have the cuffs on if you don't mind."

"Don't want to miss that gala, do you?" he asked as they entered the building.

She was a little annoyed by his benevolent tone, but she wasn't sure why. Then the smell hit her. "Ugh," Lisbon scrunched her nose as the wave of 'disinfectant mingled with body fluids' aroma assaulted her. "Why do these places always smell so horrible? I don't want to live the end of my life in someplace that smells like this."

"Cheer up Lisbon. There's a phenomenon called extinction. If you remain in the presence of a smell for several hours, you stop smelling it. Your brain turns it off. Sometimes you get so used to experiencing something unpleasant, you forget it's bothering you."

"I don't want to stay here long enough for that to happen," she groused as she spied the conference room. The rest of the team was already seated around the rectangular table when she and Jane entered. Abbott had joined the team, apparently finished with his hand holding session with the Representative, and he wasted no time getting the discussion started. "Agent Fischer, let's go over what we have so far."

The team had efficiently assembled a good deal of information, assisted by the locals, and Lisbon catalogued it in her head as it was presented. The front door of the Memory Care building entered into a reception/office area. There were three offices off the lobby as well as the conference room, which is where they were gathered at the moment.

In the rear of the reception area, a hall led either to the north wing or south wing, each of which housed about twenty residents in semi- private or private rooms. There was a central outdoor courtyard between the wings, and that was the only outside area the residents could access without setting off an alarm.

Overnight there were two staff people on duty in each wing, plus a registered nurse who was in charge of medications, and the clerk, who was the murder victim. The murder took place in one of the office rooms off of the reception area, right next door to where they currently sat.

Lisbon had the layout clear in her mind when Abbott asked Fischer about the victim.

"The victim, Frank Moran, was a 30 yr old white male who worked the night shift because he was going to school part time, trying to finish his degree in social work. He was reportedly well liked by both staff and residents. Moran usually spent most of his shift in the office room ordering supplies and doing paperwork, but generally took a meal break at 2:30 am, which was right around the time the coroner estimates time of death.

He was killed by a blow to the head, most likely with a paperweight off of the desk, which had been wiped clean and thrown in the trash can. The body was found by the medications nurse when she came back to the office to get some additional meds she needed at…" she glanced down at her notes, "…about 3:30 am."

At that point, Cho took over the presentation. "The uniforms say there are signs of forced entry. A pane was broken out of the glass on the front door, allowing the perp to reach in and unlock the door. All of the building's exits are alarmed except the front door. There are security cameras out in the parking lot, but none of them cover the front door. It's usually residents escaping that they're concerned about," he added with a raised eyebrow. "We got nothing on any of the cameras."

"Any security cameras inside?" Abbott asked.

Cho continued. "The only camera inside is in the reception area, and it's directed toward the office doors, presumably because of the medicine storage aspect. That could have been helpful, but the camera's lens was spray painted black at 2:25 am, and the paint can and a latex glove were found with the paperweight in the office trash can. It would have been simple to do standing on a chair, without being seen by the camera."

Abbott looked disappointed. "So what about the cybertheft?"

Wiley addressed that issue. "The hack into the parent company's secure business site wasn't easy – this was a professional job. Well over three million dollars was transferred from their company accounts to off shore accounts at 2:48 in the morning."

Lisbon noted Jane fidgeting slightly and rubbing his fingers together, which generally meant he had some major insight to offer, but was trying not to interrupt. Abbott must have noted that as well, because the next words out of his mouth were, "Jane, did you gain any insight into this, since you arrived earlier?"

"Yes, it's imperative that no one be allowed to leave or enter this facility unless we say so."

"Oh…kay," Abbott replied slowly.

"We don't need to waste any time chasing around the city, because the murderer must either be a staff member or a patient. Someone who was in the building last night," he proclaimed.

"But somebody broke in the front door," Fischer protested.

"Somebody broke the glass and wants us to think someone broke in. All the glass is outside the front door, and though the door had been opened, it was found closed. If you break the glass from the outside, most of it should be on the inside. And what thief closes a door as he leaves? They'd have to wipe for prints again, and what would be the point?" he asked with a shrug. "Could we get the administrator back in here?" Jane requested.

Fischer got on the phone and soon poor, tired Mrs. Stone joined them in the conference room. Lisbon couldn't help but feel sorry for her.

"Mrs. Stone, have any family members of the patients here visited or tried to take any patients out of the facility this morning?" Jane asked.

"We've had a few calls from concerned family members since the local press has reported…what happened." The woman couldn't bring herself to say the word 'murder.' "I can get specifics if you'd like. I'll go get Brenda – she'd know."

"Yes, please."

Mrs. Stone stepped out to find her staff person, and Jane addressed the team.

"Again, we need to make sure no patient leaves this building today, and that no one visits either."

"Jane, are you suggesting one of the _patients_ did this?" Abbott was wide eyed with disbelief.

"I certainly am. It's a great scam, really. Brilliant. I met with all the residents, and I'd say there are only five patients who would be physically capable of delivering a blow sufficient to kill a 30 yr old man. Whoever did this did not expect our victim to be in the room, however, hence the sloppy, impulsive murder. I'm told three of those same patients are not good sleepers…they wander the halls at night."

Jane turned to Wylie. "Whoever did this would need a thumb drive or a laptop to use the hacking program right?"

"Yes, for sure."

"So that piece of equipment is still here in the building, somewhere. No doubt our killer has hidden it, maybe even in some other resident's room. But he would rather that we not find it, because it proves that someone in the facility committed the murder, and most likely contains information incriminating him. So he will try to get it out the first chance he gets. Currently, this is not an urgent matter for him – and no doubt he had an eventual plan to get it out. We will make it an urgent matter, and when he tries to sneak it out, we will have him."

Just then, Mrs. Stone returned with her staff member, Brenda.

Jane rose and shook her hand. "Hello Brenda, I'm Patrick Jane and these are agents from the FBI," he said, motioning to the other team members. "I'm so sorry about your colleague, and we are making every effort to apprehend his killer. We have a few questions you might be able to help us with."

"Certainly. Anything." The woman's puffy eyes told them how upset she was.

"Have any of the residents' families called, requesting to visit or take them out today?"

"Most of the families that called have just wanted to make sure everything is okay. The residents aren't…alert…enough to realize what has happened, and so they're fine. The families have been satisfied knowing it was robbery related and not an attack on the residents. Mr. Johnson's daughter did call saying she wanted to take him to lunch. She usually takes him out every Saturday to spend the day with her, but she says this weekend is bad for her, so she wants to do it today."

"Ah, thank you. Mr. Johnson is one of the patients who walks – wanders - at night, right?"

"Yes, he is."

"Any chance he could have seen the killer?"

"I doubt it, but even if he did, he wouldn't remember it. He's got no short term memory left."

"And how long has Mr. Johnson lived here? What's his story?"

"He's been here about six months. Sad case – rapid onset dementia. He's only 60 or so. His daughter works and just couldn't take care of him at home anymore, but he has adjusted well here. He seems happy. And she takes him out almost every Saturday." The aide seemed a little confused as to why Mr. Johnson's history was so important, since she was certain he'd never remember the killer if he saw him.

"Unfortunately we can't allow any residents to leave just yet, Brenda. Please let his daughter know, and relay our sincerest apologies. Thank you, you have been very helpful. That's all the questions we have right now, but we might need more information later. Mrs. Stone, please give us about ten minutes to confer and then we have some plans to discuss with you."

Once the women were gone, Jane produced a photograph and showed it to the team. The photo showed a gorgeous 30ish yr old blonde with a figure that would stop traffic, and she was standing beside a 60ish year old man dressed in baggy clothes with a blank look on his face.

Lisbon eyebrows rose. _Ah ha._ "So Mr. Johnson's so called daughter is actually the girlfriend?" she guessed. "And she wants to take him out so they can get the incriminating evidence out of the facility?"

"Excellent, Lisbon. He may even have ties to the Armenians, but let's not dig into his real identity just yet. I have a plan to catch this guy tonight. We don't want to spook him."

Jane laid out the details of his plan – which basically involved pressuring Johnson into trying to get the evidence out of the building before an "extensive search" was conducted. They were all assigned jobs, and Lisbon's was simply to watch the front door all evening from her car across the parking lot. A stake out assignment for her, pure and simple. She sighed.

**Later that day**

Lisbon positioned her vehicle so she would not be visible from the front door or windows, and settled in for a long evening. Jane had no idea when their man would bolt (if he did), but she hoped it was early. The older she got, the more trouble she had staying awake for this kind of thing. She found herself wishing that Jane wasn't occupied inside, ramping up the pressure on the suspect. It would help to have someone to talk to.

He really seemed sure on this one, and she contemplated calling Marcus to tell him she could go to the gala, as Jane had suggested. She had to admit, Jane had surprised her by being so supportive of their relationship. She'd half expected him to try and cause trouble instead. Of course, why would he do that?

She was lost in thought when a loud "tap tap tap" to her right startled her. Her head snapped around to see Mrs. Granberry banging one of her rings on the passenger side window. Lisbon fumbled to find the control so she could roll down the window. "Mrs. Granberry?"

"Agent Lisbon. Are you on a stakeout?" she asked, her eyes twinkling underneath her meticulously neat white hair.

Lisbon did not want to call attention to her location. "Mrs. Granberry, get in," she said.

The woman hesitated. "I was just wondering…"

"Please, ma'am, get in the car." Lisbon popped the lock. "I don't want to draw attention."

"Oh," she acknowledged she understood, and pressed a thin finger to her lips. "Oh right," she agreed, conspiring. "Hush hush." She did as she was asked, and climbed into the passenger's seat beside Lisbon.

"How did you…" Lisbon started.

"Oh gracious, darling, I'm old but I'm not stupid. You're watching the door to Memory Care."

Lisbon couldn't keep from smiling.

"May I sit with you while you wait?" the elderly woman asked. "It's got to be boring, whiling away the hours by yourself. And I want to hear all about Patrick."

There were a thousand reasons why she should tell this woman she couldn't do this, but the likelihood of this job erupting in violence was very small, and truth be told, Lisbon couldn't resist the opportunity to find out about Jane's past. "I shouldn't do this, ma'am," she protested halfheartedly.

"Oh fiddlesticks," Mrs. Granberry shushed her. "Don't worry, if I get shot I have no family to sue the FBI, if that's what you're worried about. And besides, being killed in a shootout beats the hell out of wasting away in this place, right?"

"Well," Lisbon waffled. It was doubtful the suspect would move until well after dark, and she succumbed to temptation. "Okay, but if anything happens, you'll need to duck down and do exactly as I say."

"Understood, Agent Lisbon," she agreed.

Lisbon found the woman's quest for adventure inspiring. If she ever got this old, she hoped she'd be just as inquisitive.

"So, is Patrick a good FBI agent? I would never have suspected he would end up in law enforcement," she chuckled.

"Do you know anything about Jane, Mrs. Granberry?" Lisbon asked. "I mean his adult life?"

"Not since he was eleven," she replied. "Not for thirty years…" She perceptively realized there was a story to be told. "Please call me Eleanor. I won't feel so ancient that way."

Lisbon wondered briefly if she should tell Mrs. Granberry the whole story, but in some ways, she would be doing Jane a favor so he didn't have to relate the whole sordid saga himself. So she told Eleanor about Jane the psychic, about Jane's family, and what Red John did to them.

"Poor Patrick," she said, dabbing at an eye. Clearly she cared for Jane, even after all these years.

Lisbon left the part about the mental hospital out of her story, but explained Jane's start in law enforcement. The teacher became wide eyed as she told her how the hunt for Red John went down. Lisbon finished with Jane's subsequent return to the US to work for the FBI in return for not being prosecuted.

"Oh my," she gasped as Lisbon finished the story. "That's quite a life. Did he remarry? I saw a ring."

"No, he still wears his original wedding ring from his marriage."

"Oh dear, that's not good," Eleanor observed. "I'm so sorry he's had so much trouble, but I knew he wouldn't have a normal life."

"Really?" Lisbon asked. "Jane doesn't talk about his childhood much. Can you tell me what he was like?"

"Oh," grinned the older woman, rolling her eyes upward and chuckling to herself. "He was quite the handful…" she began.

(To be continued…)

Preview: Mrs. Granberry has some very enlightening Patrick Jane stories.


	3. Anything For You (YDKM - Chapter 3)

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I don't own these characters, and no copyright infringement is intended. Just playing with them. This is my therapy for what's going down on the show right now.

Thank you so much for the lovely comments – I'll have to say this is a fun one to write so far. Sorry for the delay getting this chapter up, but life has been kind of busy. I hope you enjoy Mrs. Granberry's story, and I hope you've seen _Oliver._ When we left off in the last chapter, Lisbon and Jane's old teacher are sitting in the car on a stake out, and Lisbon has just brought her up to speed about Jane's life over the last thirty years.

_…__"Oh dear, that's not good," Eleanor observed. "I'm so sorry he's had so much trouble, but I knew he wouldn't have a normal life."_

_"Really?" Lisbon asked. "Jane doesn't talk about his childhood much. Can you tell me what he was like?"_

_"Oh," grinned the older woman, rolling her eyes upward and chuckling to herself. "He was quite the handful…" she began..._

_._

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Chapter 3 – Anything For You

"…as you might imagine, and I will tell you about the child I knew. I sense the two of you are close, and you've been very kind to fill me in." She settled into the passenger seat and smiled.

Lisbon kept her eyes on the entrance of the building as assigned, occasionally stealing a sideways glance as Eleanor Granberry started her story.

"I was teaching 7th grade that year at Winstead Middle, which housed grades five through eight," she began, "and it was around Halloween, as I recall. One afternoon I was sitting in the teachers' lounge, listening to Joyce Fink, the 5th grade teacher, complain about a new student who'd been added to her class a few days back.

Apparently he was the child of a carnival worker, who had left him with a local couple to take care of for the winter – for a fee. They were given temporary guardianship to keep the residence all legal, and he would be enrolled until spring, when his father would return for him. There was no mention of a mother. The boy – Patrick – was part of his father's act on the summer circuit, but wasn't "needed" for the winter.

The middle aged couple that brought him to school – the Whites, I believe? – knew little about him and had no idea what grade he had completed. He was eleven, so he was placed in Mrs. Fink's age appropriate 5th grade class with the understanding that if he couldn't keep up, he would be moved down or placed in remedial classes.

Despite the story Patrick gave about never completing a school grade, Mrs. Fink said he did the assigned work with ease. His behavior, on the other hand, was wildly disruptive. He tricked other children out of their lunch money on a regular basis, and when cornered by bullies, he managed to turn them against each other, causing fights he was never physically involved in. And those things were just a drop in the bucket. After less than two weeks, Mrs. Fink was at the end of her rope, and was bucking to have him expelled."

Lisbon's eyes remained on the Memory Care front door, but mentally she was easily transported by Mrs. Granberry's story, imagining a "hard to contain" Patrick Jane at eleven.

The older woman cleared her throat and continued. "I've always been a touch nosy, so I asked her if the child had been tested. Did she know his IQ? She said she had no idea, and I suggested that she get him tested, but that I wanted to talk to him first. The poor woman was desperate, so she readily agreed, and I called him out of class to meet him.

Patrick was cute as a button, a ragamuffin of a boy with wild, unkempt blond curls, but I could see the intelligence in his eyes immediately, confirming my suspicions. Patrick was a gifted child who was bored out of his mind by the unimaginative Mrs. Fink. I also suspected he wouldn't take any testing seriously, and I wanted to prevent that."

Eleanor cleared her throat again, and Lisbon reached into the back floorboard and grabbed a bottle of water for her.

"Oh, thank you, I'm getting dry doing all this talking." She took several sips and placed the bottle into the cup holder. Lisbon shifted in her seat, impatient for the story to continue.

In a moment, Eleanor took a deep breath, and closed her eyes for a moment as she remembered. "I told Patrick that I knew he was smart and that I understood he wasn't used to such a structured learning situation. I promised him that if he would do his best on the tests, I would see to it that I became his teacher, and that he would never be bored in my class.

They made him take the tests twice, because they thought there must be a mistake the first time. Their small town closed minds couldn't fathom a gypsy boy with an IQ of nearly 170."

Lisbon took her eye off the door for a moment to look at Mrs. Granberry with wide eyes.

"Yes, he tested about 170. I can't remember the exact number." Suddenly the woman started to fret. "Oh my, I suppose that's strictly confidential information these days," she said, covering her mouth with her hand.

"It's okay," Lisbon reassured her. "Jane won't know you said anything, I promise. And we are very good friends. It's not like I didn't know he was smart."

"Well then, please do be discreet," she cautioned, and resumed her story. "Anyway, until Patrick, the highest tested child in the school was a 7th grader in my class – she was a 155 or so. Candice Wells. She was the daughter of a prominent attorney in town, and a kind and lovely girl. Not spoiled by her privilege at all.

I had no problem getting Patrick transferred to my class – the 5th grade teacher would have done nearly anything to get him off her hands," she chuckled. "She was delighted to get rid of him. I kept my promise, and sure enough, Patrick wasn't disruptive as long as I kept him occupied doing something that interested him. I enjoyed the challenge.

He and Candice struck up an unlikely friendship. She was thirteen, beginning to mature, but Patrick was still a boy. She was a foot taller than he was," she laughed, her eyes crinkling. "Mutt and Jeff. I think they were both relieved to find intellectual equals. They played chess, they did joint projects, and things were going quite well until nearly time for Christmas break.

One morning Candice showed up for school with puffy eyes, and Patrick lurked in the back of the room, totally unengaged in class. During my planning period I sat the girl down and asked her what was wrong. She didn't want to tell me at first, but I drug it out of her."

Eleanor paused to take another drink before she continued. "Apparently for the previous month or so, Patrick had been sneaking over to Candice's house after school. Her mother didn't object – she drank a lot and probably didn't even know he was there. Later Candice told me she would distract her mother while Patrick got into the kitchen and made himself sandwiches. Apparently the Whites did not feed him well, and eleven year old boys are always hungry.

Candice and Patrick would play games or read, or go down to the creek and make boats, and he would sneak away when Candice's father came home in the evening. The night before, however, her father had come home early and caught Patrick at their house. They weren't doing anything wrong, just playing a game in her room, if I recall correctly. But she said her father became very angry, and called Patrick a 'dirty little gypsy bastard,' or something close to that, and threatened to kill him if he ever saw him with his daughter again."

Suddenly, Mrs. Granberry got very still and closed her eyes, with a distressed expression on her face.

"Are you okay?" Lisbon asked, concerned. "Is it too warm in here for you?" she asked, rolling down her window all the way to let more air in.

"I'm fine now," the older lady said, after taking several deep breaths. "It's my pesky heart. They say the rhythm isn't right sometimes. The medicine doesn't work very well, but it's the only one available. That was a very short spell."

"Should I get someone to take you to the hospital?" Lisbon asked, still worried.

"Gracious no, dear, it's gone now. All over. It's not going fast anymore. Someday this thing will get me, but not today. Not a bad way to go, really. Quick." Eleanor took a long look at Lisbon. "Don't look so concerned, Agent Lisbon," she said. "Now where was I…"

Well, Lisbon supposed, if Mrs. Granberry wasn't concerned, she would have to take her at her word. "The girl's father threatened Jane…" Lisbon reminded her.

"Ah, yes. Candice was scared for Patrick and wouldn't talk to him, and he was beside himself. Wouldn't you know it, about that time her father, Horace Wells, shows up at school, loaded for bear, demanding that "that gypsy boy" be removed from his daughter's class.

Well, I straightened that old blowhard out in a hurry, and told him he could do whatever he wanted after school, but that Patrick was my student and he was staying in my class. Our conversation took place in the hall, but I'm sure the entire class heard it. We weren't exactly whispering.

Fortunately the principal backed me up, and Wells stomped off in a huff. I'll never forget after school that day, Patrick stayed after all the children had gone. He came up to me and gave me the best hug I've ever had. Didn't say a word, but I understood.

The next day I asked him if he wanted to stay after school everyday and help me with my work. I had bulletin boards to decorate, papers to grade – things like that - until my husband picked me up at five. Back then families didn't have more than one car, you know?" Mrs. Granberry smiled, remembering a bygone era. "Patrick was very perceptive about people, and when we talked after school, I realized he had all the teachers _and_ the students pretty much pegged," she laughed.

"I always made sure to bring Patrick a snack or a sandwich. I was concerned that his guardians were starving the poor child, but he begged me not to make waves, because then he would most likely be placed in child protective services or a foster home. The Whites didn't pay attention to him, but they weren't mean to him either. It was a business deal to them.

As I mentioned, I'm nosy, so one day I asked Patrick what his father was doing that he couldn't keep him during the winter. He explained that his father had a special project he was working on this winter that was going to make them a lot of money, and that when his dad came to get him, he had promised Patrick that he would be driving a brand new Airstream trailer.

Now personally I could hardly see that as a home, but from his reaction, it was clearly a step up from whatever regular accommodations they had on the carnival circuit, so I held my tongue. Christmas was coming, and Patrick enjoyed helping me with all the decorations, but I could tell he missed spending time with Candice.

Then I had an idea. We put on a school play every year in January and February, and I was planning to do _Oliver_ that year. Normally I used mostly seventh and eighth graders, but we would need some "smaller" boys for the cast as well. I already had Candice in mind for the female lead, Nancy. That girl had a beautiful voice.

I mentioned to Patrick that if he tried out for the play, there would be practice three days a week for two months after school. He understood immediately. He might be forbidden from hanging out with Candice at her house, but if they were both in the play…" Mrs. Granberry's smile was wicked.

Lisbon already realized why Jane loved this lady so – she was beginning to love her as well.

"I cast Patrick as The Artful Dodger. He could carry a tune, but didn't have a choirboy voice needed for the Oliver role. I don't know if you know the story of _Oliver, _but The Artful Dodger is a pickpocket - one of a gang of child thieves run by Fagan, a crook himself. The part called for a fun, know-it-all character, and most importantly, had several scenes with Candice's character, Nancy." Eleanor's face lit up. "It was a stroke of genius, if I do say so myself," she said with a satisfied smile.

"I bet Jane loved that," Lisbon grinned.

"Yes, they both did. I can still hear him singing." Eleanor sang a line, _I'd do anything, for you , dear…anything…."_ She tilted her head and added, "He actually taught the other kids how to pick pockets, don't you know?"

_I'll have to rent that movie_, Lisbon thought. It had been years since she had seen the play, and she wanted to imagine Jane in the role.

"The play rehearsals went well," Eleanor continued. "Soon it was March, and time for the performances. We did four. One Friday, two Saturday, and one Sunday afternoon. The performances were going well, and Candice's father was at every one. He glared at me, but given what a great show it was and how well Patrick and Candice played their parts, he didn't dare say a word.

We got all the way to Sunday's show, and I was about to pronounce it the most trouble free production I'd ever put on, when the 8th grade boy who played Fagin showed up with an upset stomach. We didn't have understudies – the school was too small – and he bravely managed to get through the first act. At intermission, the poor child disappeared into a restroom stall and couldn't come out. I gathered the cast backstage and told him we would have to stop the play.

Then I heard a voice from the back. 'I can do it, Mrs. Granberry,' he says. 'I can play Fagin.' It was Patrick. He strode to the front of the dressing room like he owned the place and said, 'Give me Fagin's hat and coat.'

One of the other kids got them from the dressing room, and though they were a bit big, he tucked all those curls up under the hat and looked completely different. He told everyone confidently that he knew all the lines.

I asked him if he was sure.

'Piece of cake' I remember he said, and darned if I didn't believe him. It was either that or stop the play, so I put it to the cast and asked if they wanted to give it a try. Of course they did."

Mrs. Granberry reached over and put her hand on Lisbon's arm. "Honey, that child didn't miss a word of dialogue, and when he did Fagin's big song - _Reviewing the Situation_ – he had the audience laughing and crying at the same time. He got a standing ovation, and he should have. It was remarkable."

The corner of Lisbon's mouth turned up in a wry smile as she saw the mist in the eyes of the elderly woman.

"Well, after that, nobody bothered Patrick, though he still didn't dare go to Candice's house. Three weeks later, late one windy March afternoon, out of the windows along the side of my classroom, I saw a beat up blue trailer pull up out front. It was during our last hour of class and the children were taking a test. I noticed Patrick put his head down on his desk immediately. He'd stopped writing. Then he got a second piece of paper out of his desk and started writing on it instead.

I went over to him and asked what he was doing, and he wouldn't even look at me. I knew something was very wrong, but I didn't push. The other students were busy taking the test. He turned in his test half done at the end of the period. When the bell rang and class let out, our principal showed up at my door with Patrick Jane's father. He explained he was there to withdraw Patrick and take him to another school. I knew that was a bald faced lie, but of course, what could I do?

Patrick came up to his father, dutifully resigned. They didn't hug. There was no expression of affection by either of them. Patrick looked like he was willing himself not to cry. 'Where's the Airstream, Dad?' he asked his father, and I didn't know an eleven year old was capable of such sarcasm.

His father mumbled something like, 'That didn't work out.'

There was nothing we could do to keep Patrick, and the principal took Mr. Jane to the office to do the necessary paperwork, leaving the boy with me for a few moments.

Patrick was holding back the tears like a little man. I told him how much I had enjoyed him as a student and he smiled, but he never said a word. He handed me a folded piece of paper that said "To Candice" on the outside, and I nodded, and told him I would see that she got it. Then he hugged me so tightly, and he didn't let go until his father came down the hall. He was in a hurry and said something brusque and insensitive, like, 'Let's go boy.'

Patrick reluctantly let go of me and started after his father, who was already halfway to the exit. Then he turned around and ran back and hugged me again, and whispered in my ear, 'Mr. Wells does things to Candice that he shouldn't.' And then he ran after his dad.

By the time I got out the door after him, they were driving away, and I'll never forget seeing little Patrick staring out the passenger window, giving me a sad little wave. It broke my heart and I cried for days over that child."

"He does seem to have that affect," Lisbon agreed. "So what about the girl?" she asked.

"Of course I asked Candice about it, and she denied there was any problem. She said Patrick just didn't like her dad. I even spoke to her mother, who was clueless, and I think a little drunk when she came in to talk to me. I had nothing to go on."

"Did you ever find out?" Lisbon asked.

"Ah," Eleanor smiled, lifting her index finger in emphasis, "the story isn't quite over."

"Wait!" Lisbon said, perking up as the front door she was watching opened, but it was just an employee who'd come outside for a cigarette. "Never mind. Please, go on."

"Nothing happened for a few weeks. Not until spring really set in, and things started to green up. As the grass grew, in the Wells' front yard, there were letters formed by grass that was much greener than the surrounding lawn, and they spelled out, 'CHILD ABUSER.'

As you can imagine, this created quite a stir in our small town, and even though no one had any idea who had fertilized those letters in the lawn, it raised a lot of questions. Social workers got involved. Long story short, it finally came out that it was true. Wells was sexually abusing his daughter."

"Oh no."

"Yes, it was shocking, and all her teachers were mortified we hadn't known. I told Candice I wished she had told me, but I understood she was scared. And then I asked her if she knew who fertilized those words in the lawn. She got a big smile on her face, but said she couldn't tell. I asked her if it was 'you know who', and she just grinned.

"So it _was_ Jane," Lisbon shook her head. "What happened to the girl?"

"She moved to live with an aunt and uncle in another town, and I heard she did quite well. I moved to Texas not long after that, and lost touch. There wasn't any Facebook back then, you know."

The light was fading, and a cool breeze wafted in through Lisbon's window. "You're on Facebook?" she asked.

"Oh yes. Now I can keep in touch with a lot of my former students. It's fun."

"Do you have family?"

"Not a soul. I've outlived two husbands and had no children of my own. I did love so many children though. Patrick was one of the most memorable."

"Yes, he…" Lisbon hesitated, squinting in the fading light at the entrance to the building she was observing. There was motion, she was sure of it. "Stay here, Mrs. Granberry," she told the older woman, "and if there are shots fired, get down."

"Yes, Agent Lisbon," Eleanor whispered in agreement, obviously excited about the action gearing up.

Lisbon pulled out her phone and called Cho. "Someone's on the move."

"On it," he answered.

Lisbon opened her car door just enough to slip out, and silently inched along the shrubbery to get a closer look.

(to be continued)


	4. I Get Along Without You Very Well-Cpt 4

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I don't own these characters, I'm simply playing with them in a nonprofit manner. No copyright infringement is intended.

_AN: Sorry about the delay getting this chapter written. That finale distracted me. Yes it did. What I have planned for this story doesn't seem as important anymore, but I'm going to finish it anyway, as an alternative way things might have gone._

_Thank you so much to the guests whom I haven't been able to thank personally for your kind reviews. I'm glad folks are enjoying this one, because it's a fun story to write, (at least until the next chapter.) Though many of the adult Jane references in the last chapter were caught by readers, nobody made the 'Candice connection,' so I'm curious if anyone will do so in retrospect, now that I've mentioned it. Aaaand, that's your challenge._

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"I Get Along Without You Very Well" (try the Chet Baker version)

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As take downs with Jane went, this one turned out to be pretty tame. From her position next to the hedge, Lisbon noted Cho was positioned around the other corner of the building. She edged closer, until she was sure the man who had come out the front door was the suspect. He was carrying a laptop of some sort.

She revealed herself, moving quickly toward him. "FBI! Stop right there and put your hands over your head!" she commanded.

Johnson stopped and did as he was told, but dropped the laptop to the ground as he lifted his hands. He was hoping to render the evidence useless, she realized, as the device hit the pavement hard. Cho was there in no time, cuffing him, and Johnson maintained his persona as an Alzheimer's patient.

He pretended to be terrified, asking, "What's wrong?" and complaining loudly as Cho pulled his hands behind his back and applied the cuffs. "Why are you hurting me?" he whined.

Lisbon grabbed the small laptop, opened it, and hit the power button. The screen lit up right away, and she smiled. They had him. "Cut the crap, Johnson, or whatever your name really is."

Just then, Jane came out the front door, grinning that grin he always sported to show the perp he'd been outsmarted. Wiley was right behind him, and he took the laptop from Lisbon and immediately started to work. Johnson maintained his act. "That's not mine. Miss Sandy told me to bring it outside. Did I do a bad thing?" he asked, childlike.

"Looking for an Oscar there, m'man?" Jane asked. "Obviously you've never seen _Tropic Thunder_. Never go full retard!" he quoted, chuckling.

Wiley, absorbed in his task, punched a few more keys, and nodded. "Ah, here it is. Codes for the transfers. Lots of emails." A disturbed look washed over the young agent's boyish face. "Oh. And lots and lots of porn. Wow. That's just…" he blushed, unable to finish his sentence.

Johnson stood up a little straighter and his slack, bewildered expression morphed into a cold, hard stare. He knew they had him. Jane didn't back off. "You know how I knew?" he asked Johnson cheerily.

"How?"

"You'd only been here six months. You walk the halls at night, and you obviously aren't wasting away – you're reasonably muscular. That put you on my short list.

Then I saw you checking out one of the nurses' backsides as she walked past. Which, in itself, wouldn't be that telling, because even old guys with no memory can get horny. But when you saw me notice, you covered it up right away. If you were as far gone mentally as you pretended, you should have been oblivious to my judgment. That was the tell.

I knew for sure when I saw the picture of you and your 'daughter,'" Jane explained, tilting his head. "If you recall, I commented that she was built like a brick shit house."

Johnson's glare turned into a leer.

"That kind of sexual objectification would have angered any father, even a demented one, but instead you looked proud. You're still proud, aren't you?" Jane grinned, playing with him like a cat with a mouse. "You can't help but feel more macho because someone pointed out your girlfriend was sexually attractive. Your testosterone fueled ego did you in, my friend."

Jane had done it again, Lisbon realized, amazed by his talent yet one more time. Suddenly, some movement caught her eye, over in the hedge. She glimpsed between the bushes to see Mrs. Granberry's gray head amongst the greenery, and she couldn't help but grin. As the team headed indoors with Johnson, she said, "I'll be there in a few minutes. I've got to take care of something."

Lisbon walked straight to the hedge to find the older woman crouching there, watching them. She giggled when she realized she was busted.

"Mrs. Granberry," Lisbon scolded her without malice, "Didn't I ask you to stay in the car?"

"Well, yes, but once the man raised his hands, I figured it was safe, and I was curious."

"Luckily there was no shooting."

"But it was so thrilling to watch!" Mrs. Granberry exclaimed, her face flushed with excitement. "Just like on TV!"

Lisbon chuckled. "Well, it's over now, so let me walk you back to your building."

"Oh, I'll be fine, Agent Lisbon," Eleanor assured her as she stepped out from behind the bush onto the pavement.

Lisbon walked her a far as the sidewalk of her building, where the older woman stopped and turned to her. "I'm fine from here on in, really. Thank you so much, my dear, for everything - the history about Patrick, sad as it was, and for letting me be a part of your stakeout. Best day I've had in months. Please remind Patrick to come by, will you? Room one twenty seven."

"I'm sure he will, ma'am. Thank _you_ for all the stories about Jane. They were very enlightening."

"My pleasure," Eleanor replied. "You be well. I can tell Patrick cares for you a great deal," she said as she patted Lisbon's hand. "Take good care of him," she added.

_Wait_, Lisbon thought. _How could she tell that?_ But the woman was already a few steps toward her building. After a few more steps, however, she turned back toward Lisbon again. "Wait! Agent!" she called. "Oh Agent Lisbon!"

Lisbon closed the short distance between them quickly. "Yes, Mrs. Granberry?"

"What does our adult Patrick like?" she asked. "I'd like to give him some sort of gift."

"Oh, I'm sure that isn't necessary."

"Of course it isn't _necessary, _young lady. It's something I want to do."

_Once a teacher always a teacher_, Lisbon smiled, amused that she'd just been scolded. "Of course. He's not very materialistic," she said, considering the question. "He likes tea. And fruit." She was hard pressed to think of other things, but she didn't have to.

"Tea, you say? Ah, well, that's perfect. Thank you again."

Mrs. Granberry turned toward the Assisted Living building entrance, and Lisbon made her way back to the Memory Care building. Fischer emerged from the front door as she approached.

"Oh, there you are," Fischer said. "They're going to take Johnson to the Ft. Worth office to hold him, and Abbott says you and I can head on back to Austin tonight. Jane, Cho, and Wiley are staying, but they don't need us. There's a flight out in an hour and a half and we have just enough time to catch it if we leave right now."

"Now?" Lisbon hesitated.

"Yep. Don't you have something on for tomorrow night? Jane said…"

"Well, yes."

"You drive and we'll turn in your car at the airport. Save the government some money."

Lisbon was home by midnight. She phoned Marcus on the way, and he was delighted she would be able to attend the gala with him the following evening. Why wasn't she as delighted as he was, she wondered.

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The gala was elegantly over the top, and Marcus looked sexy as hell in his tux. That didn't change the fact that she didn't know a single person at the event, and as the evening wore on, her fake smile muscles had begun to hurt almost as much as her feet. But Marcus was clearly having a marvelous time, and she was happy to be there for him. That's how it worked, right? You did things for each other in a relationship? When someone is important to you, you're happy for them, even when it's not something that pleases you, particularly?

Who had just reminded her of that? Jane. The other day he had asked her if she really liked Pike. She mentioned something about him being dependable, and that she was happy with him. "If you're happy, I'm happy," was Jane's reply. She had been both relieved and annoyed by his reaction. She still was, she realized, as she spied the door to the ladies room. She ducked inside and sat down on one of the powder room stools, slipping her shoes off for a moment.

Lisbon pulled her phone out of her purse to check the time. How much longer did she have to wear these shoes? She saw a text from Jane in her messages, from much earlier in the evening.

_Having an early dinner with Mrs. Granberry. Wish you could be here. She's such a gem. Have fun at your gala._

Lisbon smiled at the thought of Jane with his old teacher, reunited after all these years. She _would_ have enjoyed seeing that, and she might have come away with some more Patrick Jane stories to boot. But she was here at the gala instead, she sighed, and so she slipped her shoes back on and headed back out into the crowd to find Pike. Her boyfriend.

When they got back to her place, she invited Marcus in, and he stayed the night. He was a polite and considerate lover, always asking what she preferred and wanted. She enjoyed the warmth of waking up with someone who apparently adored her. And yet…she couldn't shake the feeling that there was a little something missing. This would go away, she reassured herself, as they learned each better. She should give it time.

Sunday morning they dined pleasantly at the local pancake shop and spent a leisurely afternoon together. Half kidding, she suggested they rent_ Oliver. _It turned out Marcus actually liked musicals, though he swore her to secrecy over that fact. They never got around to it, though, and ended up going for a run, ordering pizza, and watching the game instead. Pike went back to his place for the night. "I don't want to wear out my welcome," he explained.

She was about to crawl into bed when she noticed another text from Jane.

_Teresa, can we talk sometime soon? In person?_ Her heart quickened a little at the message. While she'd been impressed with Jane's gentlemanly behavior regarding her liaison with Pike, another part of her wanted him to protest.

Despite the fact Jane had always maintained a distance, she thought he cared about her. Knew he did. Those letters he had sent her during his exile had been downright romantic. But her hopes that he might be someday able to move on from his tragedy were growing dimmer by the minute. If Cannon River had taught her one thing, it was that she wanted a life outside work. Now Jane appeared to sanction her relationship with Pike, and since it wasn't like Jane to be selfless, she was left confused. And if she was honest, disappointed.

_Tomorrow after work?_ she texted back.

_I'll be there_. he replied instantly. She was careful to play down the possible significance of this in her mind. He probably wanted to tell her about Mrs. Granberry. But then...why the urgency? She fell asleep contemplating what it was that Jane wanted to say so badly.

She arose with a smile of anticipation on her face on Monday morning, but when she got to work, her good mood vanished. There was a brief, scribbled note lying on her desk.

_Good morning Teresa. I'm gone on a case with Abbott. I'll text you about tonight when I get there. U No Hoo_

By the end of work that day, there was no text from Jane. No call from Jane. No word. Nothing. Her phone buzzed. It was Marcus.

"Hi Teresa are you still meeting Jane tonight?" he asked

"Apparently not. He went on a case with Abbott and I've heard nothing."

"Well, in that case, it's oyster night down at Mazzoni's. Want to grab a beer and watch the game down there?"

She glanced at Jane's barren couch. Gone again, without a word. She had been stupid to expect anything else. "I'd love to," she replied.

For the next three days, all of Lisbon's leisure time was spent with Pike. Abbott and Jane were still away, and Jane hadn't seen fit to check in with her at all. Bastard.

There for a moment she'd allowed herself to hope that Jane would be jealous. Maybe even ask her out. She chided herself for ever thinking such a thing. Pike was a nice guy, he was invested in her, and he never once had left her in the lurch, either physically or emotionally. She was on the right track with a man like Pike and she should stay there.

On Tuesday, Marcus had asked her out for tonight, Thursday evening, saying he had something special planned. They would need to do early dinner reservations, he explained, so she'd brought her evening dress to work today. The busy day passed quickly, and at quitting time, she was opening the door into the ladies' room to change when she saw Abbott walk by, heading to his office. They were back. _Well, too bad, Jane._ She already had plans tonight. Plans with a nice, considerate, devoted man.

Lisbon snaked herself into the slinky green dress, added some dangling earrings, and touched up her makeup. When she looked in the mirror, she was pleased with what she saw. She just needed to pick up her purse from her desk, and she would be ready to go.

When she stepped out of restroom, she looked across the open FBI interior to see Jane standing by his couch, talking with Cho. Whatever Cho was telling him, she could tell it was upsetting Jane, even though he was facing away from her. The two were so absorbed in their conversation that Jane didn't see her until she was a few steps away from her desk.

He stopped talking midsentence. "Wow," he said appreciatively, his eyes wide.

"Hush," she scolded. "So there you are. Still alive, I see," she remarked curtly, raising an eyebrow.

He ignored her testy greeting. "You look beautiful."

"You do look nice," Cho agreed without inflection. "Have a good time," he added, and with that, he turned and made his way toward the elevator.

Once Cho was out of earshot, she wasted no time. "Where have you been, Jane?" she asked with a snarl. She hadn't realized how angry she was until she started talking, and her frustration came boiling out. "I texted you several times. You disappeared. You were gone again with no word, no explanation."

"Lisbon, they took my phone. I didn't even know where I was…where…"

She stopped him short. 'Riiiight. The great Patrick Jane can't figure out where he is? Or get a message to me? I call bullshit, Jane."

"Lisbon. Teresa. I need to talk to you."

He looked genuinely upset, but she was on a roll and she didn't care. "Guess you didn't need to talk too badly, or you would have found a way."

"Would you let me explain?" Jane pleaded. But then his eyes looked past her, focusing on something else.

In the next instant, Pike's hand was on her shoulder, giving her an affectionate little squeeze. "Hi, Jane," he smiled. Was there a hint of smugness in his voice, she wondered, or was it her imagination?

"Pike," Jane replied tersely.

Just then, Fischer and Wiley appeared seemingly from nowhere, joining the three of them. "Look at you, Teresa! That dress is gorgeous," Fischer remarked, genuinely impressed.

"Thanks," she blushed.

"I'm putting the Harris file here on your desk," Fischer explained. "Wiley's updated it with some important new information." As Lisbon turned around toward the desk to see where Fischer had placed the file, she heard Jane's phone buzz. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him take the call, and quickly walk away as he spoke.

"Have a good time tonight, Lisbon," Wiley added. And then he winked at her. _What the hell? Wiley winked at her? What was going on here? What was that about?_

She shoved the Harris file in her drawer and fished out her purse.

"So, are we ready?" Pike asked.

"Yes!" She turned around to tell Jane they'd have to find another time to get together, but he was nowhere to be seen. "Where'd Jane go?"

"He left – on the elevator," Wiley pointed helpfully in that direction, as if she didn't know where the elevator was.

She shook her head. "I shouldn't be surprised," she said, thinking out loud. "I haven't heard a word from him since Monday."

"In Jane's defense," Fischer piped up," and I can't believe I'm saying that – he and Abbott were at a top-secret facility. They had to surrender their phones and no outside contact was allowed. Abbott couldn't even call his wife. I don't know where they were, and I don't think they did either."

"Seriously?" said Lisbon. _Damn. Maybe she shouldn't have been so hard on him,_ she thought. She would apologize tomorrow and see what he wanted – probably to tell her about Mrs. Granberry, she decided, brushing off his urgency.

She didn't fret about the misunderstanding for long, because soon she was distracted by a great meal, and by Marcus at his most charming. He was really making an effort tonight – almost too much of an effort. But she pushed any negative thoughts out of her head, determined to let this evening be the special one he had planned.

After polishing off the best prime rib she'd ever had, they skipped desert because he said they had a show to make, and they could get desert after.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"You'll see," he smiled mysteriously, and before long they were parked outside of a local playhouse. On the sign out front, was the name of the current production. "OLIVER"

She was speechless.

"You said you wanted to rent _Oliver_ and I saw in the paper that this local company had an ongoing production."

This evening was getting more complicated by the minute, she mused.

Marcus continued to explain. "The weekend nights were already sold out so that's why I went ahead and booked tonight."

"It's great," she assured him. And it was, but not necessarily for the reasons he wanted it to be.

During the first act, she pictured a young Patrick Jane in the role of The Artful Dodger, and in the second, as Fagin. The leads were all quite good and the actress playing Nancy brought a tear to Lisbon's eye when she sang, "As Long As He Needs Me." Even though Nancy was a horrible enabler, her cop self observed.

Lisbon was quiet and contemplative after the play, and she would have been content to go straight home, but Marcus insisted on stopping at a gourmet ice cream shop. She soon found out why. Over a butter pecan sundae, he dropped a bomb. He'd been offered a job in Washington DC, and he wanted her to go with him. He acknowledged it was quick, and emphasized that he would have taken more time if he'd had it, but he felt they had something very real that he didn't want to lose. The reluctance must have shown on her face, because he quickly added he was sure he could get her a great job there.

She was shocked, flattered, and terrified all at once. Plus, she couldn't shake the feeling that he was going to say more, but her lukewarm reaction had stopped him. He assured her there was no hurry for an answer, no pressure, but reiterated how much he wanted her to come.

As politely and gently as possible, she told him she needed to think about it. He accepted her wishes gracefully, and when he took her home, he didn't ask to stay. She wouldn't have agreed to it, anyway. She had some thinking to do.

Lisbon was still awake at one am when her phone buzzed on her nightstand. She snatched it up, a small part of her hoping that it would be Jane, but the number she saw instead was Cho's. That was weird. Fischer always called if there was a new case. Why would Cho be calling in the middle of the night? Maybe something had happened to someone. By the time she answered, she was scared.

"Lisbon," she said.

"Sorry to bother you at this hour, but I thought I should call you."

"What's this about, Cho?" she asked, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. Her fear must have come across in her voice.

"Nobody's hurt or anything. I got a call from a buddy in Embezzlement. Frank O'Brien. He's at a bar out on Airport Boulevard – The Barfly - and Jane's there, too. Frank says Jane is stinking drunk and he's starting to make a scene. When the bartender tried to cut him off, Jane flashed his FBI badge and got all belligerent. They sold him one more drink, but Frank's afraid Jane will make this ugly and embarrass the Bureau. He called me, because he knows I work with Jane."

"Wow."

"I would go, but if Jane will listen to anybody, it's you."

She wanted to deny it, but she couldn't. "I'll go," she sighed.

"One more thing," Cho added.

"Huh?"

"I don't know if this is relevant."

"What?" she asked, impatient to be on her way.

"Well…" It wasn't like Cho to hesitate, but he did. _This must be something strange_. "Pike was telling everybody this afternoon that he was hoping to take you to Washington DC with him. Claimed he had a special plan tonight. He wanted to make sure you got out on time and he asked for our help.

When Jane and Abbott got back, Jane was looking for you. Said he really needed to talk to you. So I told him you wouldn't be available tonight. I told him that I thought Pike might…propose."

She gasped. Suddenly Wiley's strange wink made a lot more sense.

"He didn't take that news well."

"Oh." She was glad Cho couldn't see her face.

"I don't know if that has anything to do with it. I probably said too much, but I thought you should know."

"No. Thanks, Cho. I appreciate the heads up." She knew exactly where that bar was, she thought, as she pulled on her pants with her free hand. She could be there in ten minutes.

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Thanks for reading and I'd love to hear your comments if you are so inclined. Preview for chapter five: Things are going to get ugly. Really ugly.


	5. Anymore - Chapter 5

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_I don't own these people. Well, maybe Mrs. Granberry. But she doesn't strike me as the type of woman who would be owned, so there's that. I did steal a few lines of dialogue from the actual finale. Because they're better writers than I am. No copyright infringement is intended, and I receive no monetary gain from writing this._

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…From the beginning of time

in childhood, I thought

that pain meant

I was not loved.

It meant I loved.

-Louise Glick

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She didn't run any red lights, but she definitely exceeded the speed limit.

On the short drive over to the _Barfly_, she tried to recall how many times she had seen Patrick Jane drunk. Hmm. Not very many. Less than five? Really just once, she realized, and that was for a case – that time they caught the nurse who killed Santa Claus. She had seen him tipsy many times, though, and he had always been a "happy" drinker. Not like her father.

She was aware he'd been hung over on a few occasions, however. Almost always after an anniversary of some important family milestone – his wedding anniversary, his daughter's birthday – things like that. But those dances with the bottle had apparently been done quietly, in private. Lisbon concluded that, while Jane had countless faults, being a loud, mean drunk wasn't one of them. She had no idea what to expect when she got to the bar.

It wasn't that she couldn't handle a drunk. If there was any one thing she had extensive experience with, it was this. Though she hadn't always saved her brothers from her father's wrath, she'd been successful a _lot_ of the time. She was confident she could handle her drunk partner. But she_ was_ curious. Why now? And that was the part that made her concerned.

This wasn't an anniversary of anything she knew about, and she knew all the dates. Truth be told, she hoped he hadn't taken the news of Pike's planned proposal well at all, but she didn't think that news would have sent him into a drunk tailspin. That wasn't his style. Besides, he knew her well enough to know she wouldn't accept a proposal from someone she'd only known for a couple of months. He did know that, didn't he?

More likely, she decided, his encounter with Mrs. Granberry had dredged up some demons from his past. Add that to the fact that Jane could be an ass, and maybe there was a logical explanation for this situation. Maybe the bartender had rubbed him the wrong way or challenged his title as the smartest person in the room.

Whatever the cause, all she really needed to do was get him out of the bar and avoid some sort of incident. She'd have him out of there in a couple of minutes, get him safely tucked into the Airstream, and she'd be back in her bed in half an hour. Tomorrow, when he sobered up, she'd try to find out what was bugging him.

Ah, the Airstream, she mused. She had a new outlook regarding that stupid monstrosity after hearing the story Jane's teacher shared with her. Was the motor home that something Jane had been promised as a child and never received? That she could relate to. A symbol of childhood disappointment - Jane's "pony?" Or maybe it was a belated "screw you" to his father, the armchair psychiatrist in her theorized. Once again, she was reminded of how little she knew about Jane's experiences as a child.

Seeing the bar's neon sign up ahead drew her back to the task at hand, and she pulled into the gravel lot beside the _Barfly_, parking right beside Jane's Airstream. She climbed out of her car into the sweltering Texas night and walked toward the entrance. The sad strains of the country song playing inside the bar were barely audible, drowned out by the buzz of the sign, which was fashioned in the shaped of an enormous martini glass. "The Barfly," done in red neon, was positioned under the glass and left no doubt as to the purpose of this establishment.

She stepped inside, standing unobserved in the small foyer while she surveyed the place. The only light came from a few cheap stained glass fixtures hanging from the ceiling and the beer signs scattered along the walls. A substantial wooden bar was ringed by dingy, vinyl covered booths, and a couple of pool tables occupied the far side of the room. No one was playing.

Only a few hushed conversations were going on under the swell of a mournful Travis Tritt tune that permeated every corner of this dive. The people here weren't couples out for a wild weeknight on the town. These were serious, unhappy people who, for their own private reasons, had congregated in the _Barfly_ to dull their pain and occupy a sleepless night.

Jane wasn't sitting at the bar, so she scanned the booths. She drew in a sharp breath at the sight of him. His shoulders were slumped over the table, his weight resting on his left elbow, and his right hand cradled a glass. His eyes were dark and puffy, and he stared straight ahead, looking at nothing, his lined face devoid of expression.

He looked like he belonged here, with these hopeless people, and that made her heart ache. He certainly wasn't causing a scene at the moment. Strangely enough, she would have preferred that to the man she saw.

Jane lifted the glass to his lips, zombie like, and slowly realized it was empty. He looked over toward the bar and caught the bartender's eye, motioning for a refill. The bartender shook his head 'No.'

Jane said something more forcefully. She couldn't hear what it was from her concealed spot, but she knew that look. She was positive he had pegged the guy and was now verbally slicing him into small, insecure bits. Sure enough, the red-faced bartender strode down his bar, opened the shelf door at the end, and headed straight for Jane.

_Uh oh_, she thought, springing into action. She was halfway to Jane before he saw her coming. His reaction passed over his face in drunken slow motion. Shock. Disbelief. And finally, she was startled to see, fear.

Jane forgot all about the approaching bartender. He dug into his pocket and dumped some cash on the table, sliding awkwardly to the edge of the booth's bench seat.

_Oh my God_, she realized, _he's going to run_.

Or rather, he would try to. In the same instant he managed to stand, the bartender arrived at his booth. When Jane attempted to escape, he stumbled over the barkeep's foot, doing an ungainly face plant on the linoleum.

She got there just as the bartender grabbed a handful of the back of Jane's suit jacket, lifting him up off the floor. Lisbon blocked the big man's right arm as he pulled it back, his hand already clenched into a fist.

"Stop!" she shouted.

The stunned bartender hadn't seen her coming and released Jane's jacket, letting him fall back to the floor with an unceremonious thud. He turned to her, livid.

"What the hell, woman?"

"Sir, I'm this man's partner. Let him go, and I'll get him out of here for you."

"Look darlin', I don't give a good gawdamn if you're banging this sombitch – that's _your_ bad judgment. But nobody says sumpthin' like that to me in _my_ place and gets away with it. So back up, little gal, 'cause I'm about to give this know-it-all bastard the ass whoopin' he deserves."

"He's my _partner_!" she insisted, flashing her FBI badge. "Back off." She stepped closer to the big man, invading his personal space, and pulled her jacket open far enough so he could see the Glock on her belt.

When he saw the gun, he moved back quickly, almost stepping on Jane's head in the process.

"Okay," he said, raising his palms to her. "Sorry! Dude said he was FBI and I thought he was full of it. Get his sorry carcass out of here, then, and I never want to see him again."

He backed off several more steps. "What an asshole," he sneered, still all worked up.

Lisbon ignored him and stooped beside her prone partner.

"Hesh the ashshole," Jane mumbled, making a sloppy swipe of his arm in the bartender's direction.

"Shut up, Jane. Are you alright?"

He nodded.

"Let's get you up and out of here."

"Where chew come from?" he slurred. "I din call you." He paused, planning his movement, and then managed to climb to his knees. "Did I?" He had to concentrate carefully to get the words out.

Wow. He was going to need a walk. A long walk. "Let's get you up," she repeated, hooking her arm under his armpit and helping him to his feet. Under the watchful glare of the bartender, she pulled Jane's arm around her shoulder and began taking a few steps. Soon they were out into the hot night air.

Jane remained silent as she walked him through the parking lot, where he attempted to head straight toward the Airstream.

"No, you don't," she said. "I think we should walk around for awhile. Metabolize some of that alcohol." She gave him no choice as she navigated them around and around the parking lot.

After numerous rounds, he finally spoke.

"I'm okay, Lishbon," he muttered. "Take me to the Airshsteam."

His speech was still a little slurred but he did seem much more lucid. "You sure? Let's do a couple more rounds and then we'll go sit down, okay?"

He nodded.

When they finally approached the motor home, he handed her the keys so she could open the door. Somehow, he managed to hoist himself inside, where he plopped down heavily onto the bench seat at the table. He rested both elbows on the gray laminate, and buried his head in his hands.

"I'm…I'm sorry. Lisbon," he said quietly. "You should be ash..ashleep."

He was ashamed, she realized.

"It's okay, Jane. I was awake. A buddy of Cho's told him you were at the bar and he called me."

His eyes shot up as if something had just occurred to him, and he looked straight at her left hand.

"I was alone," she added. To make things perfectly clear.

Drunk Jane wasn't very adept at hiding his reactions, and she was certain she saw relief on his face.

He was glad she hadn't accepted any proposals from Pike, she was confident of that, but her instincts told her there was something else going on here. _Had something happened during Jane's trip with Abbott? Had some demon from his past been stirred up by his conversations with his old teacher? Why had he felt the need to numb himself tonight?_

"What's going on Jane?" she asked. "Talk to me. I'll make you some tea."

"I'd love some tea." He lowered his head back down into his hands.

The first teacup she saw in the dish cubby was a new one - white porcelain with a wide dark band under a gold rim. She found a matching saucer and made Jane's tea, just the way he liked it. Then she slid the steaming cup of liquid in front of him, and only then did she start her inquiry.

"Look, I know you are a private person, and I try to respect that, but something has obviously come up that you're having trouble dealing with. I got up in the middle of the night and saved you from that punk of a bartender, and I think I deserve to know why."

He lifted the cup to his lips and took an appreciative sip. "Had a difference of opinion, Lisbon," he explained slowly, with childlike logic. "He tole me he wouldn't sell me 'nother drink even though my Airshtream – my home – wash right out here. Wasn't gonna drive. No driving. He…"

"Dammit, Jane! I don't care about your stupid pissing contest with the bartender, and you know it!" She couldn't believe he was trying to hide from her even when he was drunk. "I need for you to talk to me. Why were you there? I deserve to know the truth!"

He took a deep breath and raised his head again, suddenly grave and serious. "Thas what Miz Granberry said."

"You lied to Mrs. Granberry?" Now she was really confused. "What about?"

"No," he shook his head. "Not to her…well…guess I did, ashly. But not on purpose." He dropped his eyes back to the table.

"Jane, what are you talking about?" Apparently she had made a serious mistake by trying to talk about this while he was so inebriated.

He continued to stare down at the table, and when he answered, he was far away, back with his old teacher. "We talked a long time. Long time. She unnerschtood. She was married twice – first husband died. Accident."

Had the talk with Mrs. Granberry simply caused him to relieve his family's death, she wondered. That's what it sounded like. But what was the unintentional lie, then?

He went on, still clearly back in the room with the older woman. "She made me promish. Promise," he corrected, but fell right back into the slur. "I promished to call her when I did it. 'I will tell Teresa the truth of how I feel,' I promished her. Tell her I love her. Would call her and let her know that I did it. But now…"

Lisbon's mouth dropped open. She couldn't hide her shock. "You what?"

Her tone jolted him back into the present, and it slowly dawned upon Jane what he had just let slip. He raised his head and looked at her anxiously. Then he came to some decision, and he sat up straighter, took a deep breath, and set his jaw. "Teresa, I have to tell you shum. Something." He paused, screwing up his drunken courage. "I love you. That. That ish the truth. Letting someone close – it shares me. Scares me. But ish the truth of what I feel. And I can't imagine waking up some morning knowing…" his eyes filled with liquid as his voice faltered "…knowing I won't see you anymore." He swallowed. "I love you, Teresa."

"Jane.."

He let out a tremendous sigh. "Maybe I'm too late, what with you and Pike – is a good man…but…" He hiccupped and frowned. "I want you to be happy. That is what I want. Because I love you."

_Oh God_. "Jane, you are drunk."

He looked a little hurt. "No! I mean yesh, I'm drunk. But is the truth, Teresa," he stated adamantly. "I do love you." Then he rolled his eyes upward in relief and put both palms on the table to steady himself. "Whew. It feels so good to finally say that out loud."

Despite her shock, she was beginning to understand what had happened, or thought she was. "Mrs. Granberry told you that you should tell me the truth?"

He nodded vigorously.

"And what you said - that's the truth?" she asked again, tears pooling in her eyes. She was desperately afraid to believe this. What if he woke up in the morning and didn't remember a word of what he had just said?

"I love you," he repeated, enunciating carefully as he looked straight into her eyes. There was no doubt from the shine in his eyes that, at this moment, he meant it.

What he had admitted slowly settled upon him in the form of a proud smile. "I did tell you. Teresa." His smile quickly faded. "But she won't know. I can't…" Jane faltered. "Thash why I came to the bar," he explained.

"Why not?"

"Eleanor Granberry. She died. Yeshterday. They called me today when I got back to the FBI."

"Oh no." Even though she hadn't known the women long, the news hit her hard as well.

He shook his head, his expression resigned and sad. "She gave me this teacup. Was her husband's. Second husband's." He held it with both hands, placing it carefully on the saucer as a tear trailed down his cheek. "She was good to me."

"I'm so sorry, Jane," she said softly, and then she did something bold – something she'd always wanted to do. She sat down beside him and gathered him into her arms. He was stiff and cautious at first, but soon he surrendered, and allowed himself to melt into her embrace and accept her comfort.

She held him close while he sniffled, his head tucked into her shoulder. Soon the fatigue of the day and the alcohol caught up with him, and he sagged against her. He must be exhausted.

"Let's get you into bed," she coaxed, and he nodded. In a couple of moments she had him tucked in, snoring softly on the couch bed of the Airstream.

Lisbon sat at the table and wondered how she should proceed. It would be light in three or four hours, and there was no way she would be sleeping tonight. She'd suspected all along that Jane had feelings for her, but she had nearly given up hope that he would ever express them or act on them. Her fear now was that he might still wake up in the morning and not remember what he'd said. Or worse yet, wish he hadn't said it.

She needed to hear him confirm his feelings when he was sober before she'd allow herself to accept his declaration as genuine. In the meantime she would steel herself, just in case he took it back. He had before, after all. Deep in her heart, though? She knew he meant it.

She shuddered at how close she had come to deciding she should commit to a relationship with Pike. He was a nice man, and she liked that he was a nice man. But she didn't love him. Maybe she could have, in time.

Lisbon picked up the porcelain cup and examined it. It seemed such a cruel twist of fate for Jane to have found someone from his past that he loved, only to have her taken from him so quickly. Hell, the injustice of it made _her_ want a drink, she thought blackly.

Lisbon decided she would sit here all night with Jane, and see what happened when he woke up. She propped herself into a corner with some pillows and closed her eyes, just to rest them for a moment...just for a moment…

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AN: Argh. I must have written that Airstream scene a dozen times, and I'm still not sure it works, but I have to let it go, because I've completely lost perspective, and it isn't getting any better. Thanks for reading my scribbles.

I think a couple more chapters will finish up this tale.


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